


need

by harinezumi_kun



Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-24
Updated: 2010-08-24
Packaged: 2017-11-05 17:32:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/409128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harinezumi_kun/pseuds/harinezumi_kun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>what he wants, what he needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	need

**Author's Note:**

> something short and fairly smutty that's been incubating in my brain for a couple days. a little bit train-of-thought, mildly incoherent, your patience is appreciated (~_~;)

It’s cold, so cold, and the rain has been falling ever since Nino started walking. He doesn’t really know where he is now, so he has no idea how Ohno found him, but—no, no, it started before that—

She sends him a text message, a fucking text message, one that he doesn’t even read until three hours after the fact because he’s in recordings all day. It just says: _It’s over. I’m sorry. Please don’t call me, don’t come over anymore. I’ll send you your things._ He doesn’t react, at first, in part because he can’t—he’s still in public, still smiling for the cameras—and in part because they had both known it was coming. The hiding, the sneaking around, is always too hard, in the end, no matter how in love they are.

But he feels the ache coming on, too familiar for how often he’s felt it, and when he leaves his last round of filming, he heads out into a dark city under a dark sky and gets lost.

The rain starts maybe five minutes later and he wants to laugh and laugh for all the pathetic fallacy, and pathetic really is a good word for it, he thinks. Like him, trying to hold on to something he loves, and how it always slips through his fingers.

When he’s too tired to walk any farther, he’s on a pedestrian bridge over a busy street. The rain blurs and softens everything, and maybe the headlights sliding by below look like something more beautiful than what they are—a river, Christmas lights, stars—or maybe he just wants them to.

He notices he can’t feel the rain hitting him anymore at the same moment he notices the warmth of a body beside him, pressed close so the umbrella will cover both of them. When he looks up, Ohno is watching the traffic, and Nino hears himself say “You found me.”

“You were counting on it,” Ohno tells him. He glances over at Nino, then, studies his face for a moment, and guesses: “She broke up with you.”

Nino nods, and Ohno turns away again. And here is a common misconception about Ohno: it’s not that he never talks, it’s that he only talks when it’s important. And now he talks to Nino. He doesn’t try to raise his voice to compete with the car-noise and the rush of rain, and Nino has to lean in to hear him.

“It hurts, when it happens like this. When it’s not because you don’t love each other, but just because there’s no time or space and no way to make more of either. It’s hard, to love someone so much and never be able to give them enough of yourself. But you’re responsible for so many things, for your job and the fans, and there’s no turning your back on that. You feel like there will always be someone you’re disappointing, no matter how hard you try.”

Ohno speaks all the words Nino can’t bring himself to say, words that would make him weak to say aloud. Nino feels tears burn at the corners of his eyes, and lets them fall because it’s dark and they will melt away into the raindrops covering his face.

“It’s not your fault,” Ohno continues, matter-of-fact, though there is just a touch of sympathy there. “You’ll be okay.”

For a moment, Nino struggles—he wants to scream, wants to cry, to once and for all convince Ohno, everyone, that it is always always his fault and even if the wounds eventually scab over they always leave a scar and how is that _okay_? How is carrying around reminders of all the times he’s let down the people he cares the most about _okay_?—but eventually he just shakes his head. Not now, not now, for now just—

“Take me home,” he says, trusting Ohno to know what he means.

And Ohno slides an arm around Nino’s shoulders, warm against wet clothes, and leads him away.

When they arrive at Ohno’s apartment, Nino is shivering from the chill of the evaporating moisture in his clothes, and Ohno deposits Nino in the living room while he goes to start a bath. This in-between dampness always leaves Nino feeling depressed and restless, and he wants Ohno to come back and keep him warm again, he wants to walk right back out into the rain, he wants to just curl up and sleep, he wants, he wants, he _needs_ —

But then Ohno is back, pulling Nino up off the couch by his wrists and herding him gently into the bathroom. Nino turns and stares at the door when it shuts behind him and Ohno is still on the other side.

After a long, too-hot bath, Nino is back in the living room waiting for Ohno to finish his own turn. Nino’s rain-soaked clothes are hanging in front of the sliding glass door to the balcony, dripping a steady rhythm against the hardwood floor, and Nino is wearing a pair of ratty sweats and an age-softened T-shirt that were waiting for him when he got out of the bath. The clothes smell familiar—like Ohno—but instead of feeling calmer, Nino feels the anxiousness in his chest intensify. He is safe and warm now, but there’s still the ache and the emptiness, and his hands push restlessly at the friend-scented fabric against his skin. 

Finally Ohno emerges from the bath in a T-shirt and boxers, pink faced from the heat, his hair in thick, half-dried clumps. He scrubs at it a little more as he crosses to join Nino on the couch. It’s only now that Nino realizes they haven’t spoken a word since the bridge. He lets it go, suddenly fixated on the way Ohno’s shirt stretches and pulls when he raises his arm, allowing little glimpses of a stomach that is not quite as tan as Ohno’s arms and legs. He wants—

Ohno drops down next to Nino, a little crease between his eyes. “What?”

Nino shakes his head again. “I don’t—I need—”

But he doesn’t really know what he needs, just that Ohno is here and always seems to be, when he needs something to hold onto, so he does—curls one hand into the front of Ohno’s shirt, and presses his face into Ohno’s shoulder. Nino is folded up into himself, like always, and his knees press awkwardly into Ohno’s side, but he needs this, this closeness, he needs—

“Oh-chan,” he’s murmuring, and doesn’t know why he sounds desperate, “Oh-chan, Oh-chan.”

Without thinking, without meaning to, Nino moves his lips to Ohno’s neck, letting the repetition of the name trace patterns in the skin there, feeling the way Ohno’s pulse speeds up.

Then Ohno’s fingers are gripping Nino’s chin, lifting and tilting until their mouths meet in a proper kiss. It is simple and warm, and something about it is so reassuringly _solid_. For a moment, Nino feels his skittering anxiety ease. Ohno pulls away then, eyes flickering over Nino’s face, and this, more than words, is how they speak. For them, words are not enough—or maybe they are too much—for communicating their complexities. Nino says _I need, I need_ , and Ohno answers _Here, this, all for you_ , if only Nino will take it. He does.

Nino pulls Ohno back in again, greedy for that feeling of comfort, but it is different this time, deeper and hungrier, his fingers sliding into Ohno’s still-damp hair and clenching in the fabric of his shirt. Suddenly it is not enough, _I need more_.

Somehow, Ohno understands, and has the presence of mind to lift Nino bodily and carry him towards the bedroom. Nino forgets, sometimes, how much stronger Ohno is than him. The older man lays him gently on the bed, all soft touches and tender kisses, but Nino is having none of it—he pulls Ohno down and rolls him under.

As much as Nino appreciates the gesture, right now he just can’t lie still and be touched, he needs to move, needs to touch and feel and lose himself in someone else’s taste. And Ohno lets him. Maybe it is not all immediate acceptance—there is perhaps a moment of hesitation, a moment where Ohno starts to protest, but Nino is quick to cover Ohno’s mouth with his own and drink up whatever words he might have said. He laps them up with his tongue, slow and deep, and soon Ohno is whimpering and sighing, all thoughts of protest forgotten.

Nino doesn’t let himself think very hard about what he’s doing, he just knows that this is what he wanted, somehow. They’ve never done this before, though there are plenty of people who would be surprised to hear it, so Nino takes his time—Ohno’s body is so familiar to him, but like this it is new, and he wants to map every inch of it with his lips, his fingers, and Ohno _lets him_. He gives away everything in stuttering breaths and arching moans, and Nino doesn’t think, he just takes, everything from the warm, surrendering body beneath him.

And then comes the moment—after a slow build-up, and after learning that Ohno keeps lube and condoms tucked under the mattress and thinking _he’s done this before_ —the moment when Nino is inside Ohno as deep and as far as he can go. He opens his eyes just in time to catch Ohno looking down at the place where they are joined, hears his trembling exhalation and sees him throw his head back—but then Nino is squeezing his eyes shut and biting back a curse at how suddenly, ungodly tight Ohno has become.

His balance falters and he falls forward only to have Ohno catch him, his face in Ohno’s hands, and Ohno is bringing their mouths back together roughly, messily, murmuring and incoherent.

“Kazu, oh God, Kazu, I can’t—” 

But then Nino rocks forward, and Ohno’s words are cut off with a shout. Ohno’s eyes flare open, their gazes lock, and Nino sees—

While Nino is here trying to find what he needs, Ohno is here because he’s _found_ it. He knows what he wants, he wants Nino, has wanted him all along, maybe, that’s why he was so quick to surrender, and maybe all along he’s—but, no, no, not now—

Nino can’t stop now, can’t think about this, he just knows that this feels right, this feels like it’s exactly what he needs, and he clenches his hands at Ohno’s hips and _moves_.

But it only takes a few long, slow thrusts before he loses control. He vaguely remembers being cold, but now it is so, so hot, and everything is slick with sweat, and he _needs_ this, he needs to feel important to someone—

He feels Ohno come, feels the muscles tighten around him, and he is gone in moments.

Later, the sweat has cooled against his skin, and he is shivering again, but he doesn’t know if he can blame the chill. He lies next to Ohno—already asleep—and thinks about the different things they both need.

He wonders if—maybe, eventually—they could be the same.


End file.
